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Last Friday, there was still plenty of time left in July. Now, there is barely any (and also barely any money).

It’s been really hot, in the 90s every single day, and, as it’s New England, very humid. Like today. “Feels like 104.” I think the heat this week has really been getting to me. Here is why:

1. I have been near unable to get up in the morning. I just feel so sleepy and so unwilling to be awake and step out my door. Not for the reasons Bilbo Baggins cites, but more for the fact that it’s almost impossible to choose clothes when it’s so hot that I really don’t want to wear anything. Why can’t I be one of those girls who doesn’t need a bra?

2. I had such a bad, stupid dream last night. It was basically a terrible soap opera, but it also drew on some aspects of my personal life that make me especially frustrated or worried. Why am I blaming the heat for that? I don’t know, but I’m sure it’s involved somehow. See #1.

3. The second I step outside, it isn’t really so bad, but I’ve barely been outside a minute before my skin is all clammy and I’m sweating from several different places. I don’t like getting sweaty unless I’m working out (and therefore it’s justified) and/or I will be able to change into other clothes very soon. Working up a sweat just from walking and then having to sit in it all day is just not something I want to do.

4. As per #3, walking is not enjoyable. Therefore, what is usually the best part of my workday (yes, I know that’s sad) is made into yet another chore. As a result, this important part of improving my mood does the opposite.

5. Many cold beverages are purchased, and as a result my bank account dwindles. Thus, every time I look at the balance I feel a little more like crying.

This is a bit later than I planned, because Friday night happened, as it sometimes does, and I did not end up having time. Then I just totally blanked for a while on anything I could write about. So now I’m just going to wind back some metaphorical clock or other and pretend it’s Friday while I write this.

July 4th edition

One

The first thing was waking up around 9. After waking up much earlier, thinking, “That’s too early,” and going back to sleep.

Two

Sometimes people make you waffles. Waffles are tasty with maple syrup and a giant pile of cut-up fruit on top. And coffee. But most things are tasty with coffee, so why even bother mentioning it?

Three

The movies are an excellent place to go when it’s Hellishly hot outside. They always have air conditioning. I saw Man of Steel. It was entertaining. Since then I have developed an impression of drunk Superman that is very entertaining.

Four

DON’T go to The Gourmet Dumpling in Chinatown on a holiday. Just don’t. But, DO go. They have really tasty food and considering the portions, it’s going to be well worth your money. Unless you hate Chinese food, in which case, I’m sorry about your taste buds.

Five

I should have known that Friday, being the day after a holiday, would not be a productive work day. I should have known. I thought that I could be all focused and just knock out all this work in no time. …Nope. I blame the heat and my need for tons and tons of sleep right now. You know that feeling you get sometimes, when you just want to spend an entire day in bed, napping, maybe reading or watching a movie if you feel too awake, but otherwise not being conscious, and maybe wake up the next day super-rested? That’s what I would have liked to do on Friday.

And also, Happy 4th of July. I prefer to express that sentiment AFTER the 4th, when most people are over it. 😉

I haven’t slept for seven months. I work during the day. The rest of the time, between preparing and eating meals and running necessary errands, I write. I’ve written three book-length stories in that time. None of them are finished, of course. They need editing. But the lack of sleep has given me some excellent writing fodder. The hallucinations started in week two. I know they’re hallucinations because I see people who have died. Among other… things. Creatures, horrors, fairies, paradise, forests, valleys, trenches, deep abysses I fall through as I sit at my desk and type furiously. I write about what I see, and I know I never could have come up with these things on my own. People will be dying to find out where I get my ideas. When they ask, I will say, “I come up with a concept before I can see the image, and as I write it takes form in my mind’s eye.” And of course, they’ll believe me. If I can survive that long on no sleep.

[Note: before you ask, no, this is not even remotely true. I sleep too much. There is a reason this is part of the Another Life series.]

I was a form in the middle of the ocean, curled around myself in a comforting embrace. I did not see and I was not seen, but I could feel every cell in my being shining with life. What is happiness? What is sadness? What is good and bad, light and dark? What is desire?

In the night I lie in bed. Stars, invisible through ceilings and city air, burn through me, through the body of the earth and out the other side, until their light and life-force collides with the light from other stars. I am awake, but dreaming. My mind leads me to places fantastic and mundane, images of what will happen tomorrow and things that will never happen, specters I will never meet. Fairies chuckling and monsters shimmering. I suspect that if I saw such things in real life, I would be unable to look directly at them for fear of them disappearing, or of them being too real. And when at last I drift off, the dreams I have in sleep are fuzzy and unformed. I wake feeling unrefreshed, as if my lucid half-nightmares beckon to me, enticing me back into their world.

She feels herself move between thin sheets, nearly waking every so often. She shifts and feels her bed damp with sweat, moves to the other side of the bed. The night’s heat confuses her body; she tosses uncomfortably each minute, but cannot come out of the heat-induced stupor that invades her. She stays trapped in fever dreams.

She can hardly make sense of the things she sees. One moment things are bright and sharp, and someone speaks to her, and she answers – then she turns around and everything is in a blur, and all of the people she knows are people she doesn’t know. In a sleep that is on the edge of consciousness, she is both the character of the dream, who responds as if everything were normal, and herself, who does not understand what the dream-writer is doing or why.

And she thinks, “If I could only write something, it would help.”

But immediately turns over and continues in her perpetual haze, wasting away in discomfort and stillness.

Dutch Pinup Girl that was born in the wrong time. Lover of fifties and fourties vintage and reproduction clothing, with a slight dress addiction. Taking on the world with petticoats, red lipstick and pretty dresses.